


Heartless

by StormyInk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Child Abuse, Drabbles, F/M, Infidelity, Violence, for the most part they'll be in a modern setting, prompts you guys toss at me that I don't completely butcher, rivamika, some may be in canonverse but, this is where I'll be posting all of my rivamika one shots, warnings for, will add anymore as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyInk/pseuds/StormyInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where I'm tossing all of my rivamika drabbles, one shots, prompts you guys toss at me and anything else of the like. I try to put all of the warnings I can think of in the tags so check those before you read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two hours till midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the (reluctantly shared) elevator ride was silence laced with loathing—until the lights flickered, reflected a million times in the mirrored walls about them, the cab jolting awkwardly and stopping midway.
> 
> “Levi,” Mikasa murmured, her breath hitching, shutting her eyes as her pale hands gripped the railing behind her tightly, knuckles bone white. “Why did the elevator stop?”
> 
> Levi moved forward, punching button after button—the levels, the service button, emergency—every hit becoming progressively violent when the elevator didn’t react. “It’s not working.” Levi spat out a slew of obscene epithets. “The power’s out.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for several moments, calming himself. He tugged out his phone—his lip curling when the screen lit up. “No fucking signal. My battery is about to die—and its two hours ‘till fucking midnight.” He dropped his briefcase, turning to face Mikasa, his expression grim. “Merry fucking Christmas to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I participated in a Secret Santa on tumblr and I wrote this little one shot as a (poorly written) gift for FyeahRivaMika on tumblr. I was watching a lot of cheesy christmas movies so forgive me. Happy holidays, everyone.

_~4:30p.m.~_

It wasn't as if she intended to work until the late hours of Christmas Eve.

Or, perhaps she had. She didn't have anything or anyone to go home to—had tried not to let that fact bother her. She was single and alone for Christmas but that did not necessarily mean she had to be unhappy.

And yet she couldn't help feeling strangely…troubled.

She wasn't one to get too riled up for the holidays—they reminded her of family, of children and parents.

They reminded her she had none.

Except for Eren and Armin of course, a family she was fiercely loyal and protective of, a family that she'd do anything to keep safe and happy.

Even if that meant stepping away from them.

_"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"_

_"I'm sure."_

_"It'll be fun. Eren and I won't be too touchy with one another and make you feel awkward at all. It'll be like old times. We can all sleep in that cabin Hanji lent us up in Big Bear and enjoy the snow. Come with us, Mikasa. Please. You shouldn't have to be alone for Christmas."_

_"I have a lot of work to do, Armin. I'll probably work for most of the day and shower and go to bed as soon as I get home. Don't worry about me. You two have fun. As long as you and Eren are happy…I am, too."_

And it wasn't as if she had lied, really.

If anyone deserved and needed Eren's indomitable passion, unshakable loyalty and dauntless bravery it was Armin. And if anyone deserved Armin's unparalleled intelligence, his patient tactfulness and his infinite kindness it was Eren.

If anyone deserved her fierce protection it was them.

They loved each other. She was happy for them.

And so she'd found herself up to her neck in paperwork on Christmas Eve, most of her coworkers having dropped off a small Christmas gift on her desk; small handmade Christmas cards, a few foil wrapped delicacies, an excessively large tin box of chocolates from Jean and a large bottle of wine wrapped in candy cane striped paper—from the second head of the company.

She been a bit startled to find it on her desk, had narrowed her eyes as she'd read the name written in lettering as caustic and cutting as his tongue.

_Levi._

And for several moments she hadn't really been able to comprehend just  _why_ he'd given her a bottle of wine—why he'd given her a gift at all—because they hadn't spoken much, at least not on a personal basis. Most of their work forced interactions hadn't been what she'd call pleasant by any means; they were too good at their jobs, too competitive, too stubborn to not clash during meetings.

Levi took a little too much perverse pleasure in scaring Eren witless and piling mountains of paperwork upon him—would have done the same to Armin if Erwin hadn't assigned him as his personal assistant. She had made it her goal to surpass him, to prove her worth to him despite being so much younger, to  _best_ him.

She wanted to earn his respect as much as she wanted to crush him beneath her sharp heel.

Because when they worked together, when they agreed on a subject and executed their plans with their single minded ruthlessness—she'd felt a high like no other.

But she shouldn't think of those things.

She'd dragged a fingernail across the paper on the front of the bottle, peeled the edge away to reveal the label—and had felt her brow furrow.

_How did he know this was my favorite wine?_

And it was with a strange giddiness twisting her insides and a fierce look of concentration darkening her gaze that Sasha found her, walking into her office, her coat thrown over her arm, her large purse in hand.

"Everyone is leaving." Sasha yawned, stretching. "Well, everyone except the boss." Sasha pointed over her shoulder to the office across from hers. Mikasa looked, saw Levi hunched over his large desk, his pen furiously scratching at pale sheets. He looked unhappy, she thought, miserable almost, knew he'd snarl at anyone who dared to interrupt him—but perhaps he wasn't as unpleasant as he made himself to be.

Perhaps he was the kind of man who was keen and attentive enough to notice a subordinate's favorite wine and wrap and gift it to them on Christmas Eve.

She flushed and looked away, eyeing the bottle with reluctant gratitude.

Sasha pointed at the bottle in Mikasa's grip. "You got a bottle, too?"

Mikasa blinked. "Too?"

Sasha nodded. "We all had bottles on our desks this morning. A gift from Levi." She reached into her bag, struggled to tug out her own bottle—wrapped in reflective green paper. "You got fancy paper, though. I think mostly everyone got green or red." Sasha slid the bottle back into her purse. "You leaving now?"

Mikasa held very still. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Sasha hesitated. "Remember you can come over later if you'd like. Connie and I are holding a party for everyone at our place…"

Mikasa shook her head. "Thank you, Sasha."

Sasha sighed. "Alright, then. Good night, Mikasa. Merry Christmas." She left with a small wave.

Mikasa sat in her chair, carefully placing the bottle in the bottom drawer to her right.

_We all had bottles on our desk this morning._

She tugged out her thin laptop, tugging out a small note pad and pen along with it.

_You got fancy paper, though._

Mikasa quietly buried her disappointment with every soft tap of her keyboard and scratch of her pen.

* * *

 

_~9:45p.m.~_

Levi didn't look at the time until the words on the screen began to blur together. He massaged the back of his cramped neck as he shut his laptop, grimacing when he saw how late it was.

_Nine forty-five._

He stood, stretching, his back giving several audible, satisfying pops. He began gathering his belongings—suit jacket, his coat, all the other tacky trinkets his employees had messily strewn about his office swiftly stuffed into his briefcase as he shut the light off and walked out—when he saw Mikasa Ackerman's office light still softly glowing.

When he saw her sleeping on her desk.

She had her arms folded over the desk, her cheek pressed over the back of her hand, her small lips parted, her breathing slow and even.

She was beautiful, he admitted to himself, lovely, even. He'd known she was attractive since the first time she'd walked into his building—hadn't known just how exquisite she was until he'd worked with her. It had been a frustrating thing, a slowly satisfying one, discovering the different aspects of her character: quiet tenaciousness, a sharpness that nearly matched his, a bone deep protectiveness and loyalty to the company—or well, Eren mostly.

And her softness.

It had left him breathless on more than one occasion, the blood boiling glares she'd give him one second, the cutting words they'd bite out over a long work day—and then Eren would call her name, or Armin would smile at her, and every one of her lethal lines softened, her shoulders relaxing, her dark eyes almost fucking sparkling.

As if Yeager or Arlert were built out of fucking diamonds.

And he was just a lump of ashy coal.

Yes, Mikasa Ackerman was a woman who troubled him with how much she intrigued him.

If only she didn't completely loathe him.

He sighed, walking over to her office. He pressed his lips together as he rapped on her door sharply—watched her jump awake.

"How unprofessional, Mikasa." Levi leaned against the door, enjoying the open confusion on her pretty features—such a rare display of vulnerability. "Sleeping on the job? I don't think I pay you for that."

She cleared her throat, standing quickly as she straightened her prim dark blue dress. "I wasn't—"

"Yes you were." He gestured to her belongings in the corner of her office. "I'm leaving and I need to lock up. Hurry up."

Mikasa ran her hand through her hair, trying not to seem flustered. She snapped her laptop shut, clicking off her lamp and gathering her belongings deftly.

He watched her as she slid on her coat, bundling that damned scarf about her neck and mouth, sweeping everything up into her long arms. He'd often marveled at the way she'd moved, all poise and grace—had seen how brutally she could break someone just months after she and all the interns had started working for them, just a week before they'd decided who was going to go and stay.

Which one he, Hanji and Erwin would pick to take under their wing.

It had been a curious morning—Erwin had called him into his office, two security guards nervously standing with their hands clasped in their laps.

_"Have a look at this, Levi."_

Erwin had pointed at a large screen on the wall opposite from them, the video fuzzy and choppy. It was a view of the street right outside their building—and before Levi could ask why the hell he wanted him to watch a street he saw Mikasa walk out the front doors.

She walked down the sidewalk—ignorant of the two men trailing closely behind her. Levi felt his gut clench, his body moving forward of its own will, as if he could reach into the screen—and before he could think rationally Mikasa whirled, dropping her purse and briefcase, decking the two men before they even realized what the hell was going on.

And for a moment Levi was completely stunned—something he rarely was—and then he felt the relief wash over him, along with a black, black humor. He felt the edges of his lips curl up, shook his head as he watched Mikasa calmly pick up her belongings and keep walking, disappearing off the edge of the screen.

_"That one is mine, Erwin."_

Mikasa walked towards him now, breaking him of the memory—he eyed the huge box beneath her arm in dismay.

"What the hell is in there? A small child?"

She frowned. "It's a gift from Jean…they're sweets."

Levi stayed quiet for a few moments—moved away from her doorway, motioning for her to follow behind him as they walked down the hall. "I would say it was a thoughtful gift." Levi tapped the button for the elevator twice, catching Mikasa's gaze through the blurry reflection of the stainless steel doors. "Except you don't like sweets."

He saw the surprise that lifted her brows and parted her lips—before she promptly looked away, tugging her scarf up with a finger. "It's not—"

The elevator gave a soft ping, the doors gliding open, presenting the posh elevator; all mirrored tile, mirrored walls, a softly glowing light above.

A small twig of mistletoe ominously hung in the center.

Mikasa stepped away. "I'm taking the stairs."

Levi sighed wearily, catching her elbow before she could move away. "Get in the elevator." He glared at the stupid sprig. "No doubt done by Connie and Sasha." He made a mental note to have a word with them. He tugged Mikasa forward—and realized he couldn't. "I'm not going to bloody kiss you so get in the—"

"It's not that." Mikasa bit out, looking away carefully. "I…don't like elevators."

Levi's brow furrowed—reached out when the doors began to shut, forcing them back. "Claustrophobic?"

She nodded. "Not…excessively. Elevators make me…uncomfortable."

Levi kept his hand around her elbow. "The stairs are locked."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"They're locked." He shrugged. "We had a few homeless straggle in a few nights ago and so Erwin decided to lock them to keep them out while we were gone for the holidays. He was the keys for those doors." He nodded towards the elevator. "You're going to have to get in there or stay here the whole bloody night."

Mikasa reluctantly set her teeth, and he watched with idle fascination as a tic appeared in her jaw—until she stepped forward, all poise and grace vanquished, rusty hinges in its place.

He followed, pushing the bottom to take them to the bottom floor. The doors shut—and Mikasa stayed in the far corner of the elevator, leaning against the wall and glaring at the offensive mistletoe above them.

Yes, Levi mused, she most definitely despised him.

Most of the (reluctantly shared) elevator ride was silence laced with loathing—until the lights flickered, reflected a million times in the mirrored walls about them, the cab jolting awkwardly and stopping midway.

It went pitch black.

"Levi," Mikasa murmured, her breath hitching, shutting her eyes as her pale hands gripped the railing behind her tightly, knuckles bone white. "Why did the elevator stop?"

Levi moved forward, punching button after button—the levels, the service button, emergency—every hit becoming progressively more violent when the elevator didn't react. "It's not working." Levi spat out a slew of obscene epithets. "The power's out." He pinched the bridge of his nose for several moments, calming himself. He tugged out his phone—his lip curling when the screen lit up. "No fucking signal. My battery is about to die—and its two hours 'till fucking midnight." He dropped his briefcase, turning to face Mikasa, his expression grim. "Merry fucking Christmas to us."

It was the last thing she heard before she fainted.

* * *

 

_~10:15p.m.~_

" _Don't you dare fucking pass out on me, Mikasa."_

It was the first words out of his mouth when he caught her, fumbling to keep her upright—cursing and folding onto his knees instead.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." He put her on her back, grabbing his phone and using it to light up her face, relief cracking through him when he saw her lashes fluttering. "Mikasa," He growled, shaking her. "Mikasa wake the fuck up." What the fuck were you supposed to do when someone fainted? He'd seen it a few times—you carry them, get a doctor—but where the devil was he supposed to carry her to if they were trapped in a fucking box?

He searched her pockets, finding her phone. He checked the signal—damn near threw it at the wall when he saw that it had none.

He lifted her head, checked her breathing, her pulse—all seemed relatively strong.

Perhaps it was just the fright?

"How in the hell," Levi unbuttoned her coat swiftly. "Can someone fearlessly fight two thugs on the sidewalk without batting an eye…" He peeled it off her shoulders, tugging her arms out. "But faint when the bloody lights go out?" He lifted her against his chest, slapping her cheek gently—calmed slightly when her hand lifted to push his away. "Mikasa wake up."

Her lashes fluttered, her chest rattling with an unsteady breath. The elevator was still glowing with the multiple reflections of her cell phone, and her eyes met his in the white blue glow.

"Levi?" She murmured thickly.

"Are you alright?" He scanned her features, saw her realize they were still in the elevator.

She pressed her fingertips over the backs of her eyelids. "We're still trapped." Her breath quickened.

"Don't pass out again." He snapped. "Sit up."

He leaned her away from him and against the wall, saw her head loll back weakly. "Here." He pressed her cell phone into her damp palm. "Keep it lit up. I'm going to try to climb the hell out of here."

"Climb?" She muttered thinly.

"Up there." He jerked his chin towards the ceiling, dropping his coat and suit jacket onto the ground. "There's a latch, isn't there?" He began deftly rolling up his sleeves, yanking impatiently at his tie. "Stay awake. It's just a damn elevator."

He stepped up onto the railing, lithely holding himself upright up against the corner, reaching upwards with a grimace. "Fucking hell," He cursed.

He heard Mikasa give a strangled sound—couldn't quite decipher what it meant.

"You can't reach." She whispered.

Levi scowled, shoving the small door above aside. "Are you  _amused,_ Acker—shit." The railing snapped beneath his foot, and he was falling—Mikasa kicked away from the wall, trying to catch him in time.

She didn't—his body hit the floor hard but she caught his head, cradling it in her lap as he groaned. Mikasa brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"Are you alright?"

He spoke between jagged breaths. "Does it fucking look like I'm alright?" He tried to stand—she pressed her palm to his forehead, kept him on his back.

"Stay still for a few minutes."

Levi grunted—but obeyed, oddly soothed by the way her fingertips smoothed over his brow and into his hair.

He stared at the mistletoe dead center above them until his pulse returned to normal.

* * *

 

_~10:30p.m.~_

"I'll try this time." Mikasa let Levi help her to her feet. "Give me a boost."

Levi nodded, crouching onto his knees.

"What are you doing?"

"Sit on my shoulders."

"No."

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Then how?"

Mikasa looked disgruntled. "I don't know."

"Get on my fucking shoulders."

* * *

 

_~10:35p.m.~_

"Can you reach it?"

"Yes." Mikasa pulled herself up, her body halfway through the opening—when suddenly the entire cab jolted back to life, the cables beside her rolling. "Levi—"

He slid her down instantly, her stomach dragging over his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady as everything shifted. "Are you hurt—?"

She clamped her hand over his mouth as the lights flickered on weakly.

"The electricity is back up." Mikasa slid her hand away from his mouth, curled her fingers into the fabric over his shoulders. "We're going to get out."

Levi nodded grimly, felt his eyes latch onto the thrashing pulse at the base of her pale throat. "About fucking—" The elevator jerked to another stop, the lights flickering again.

"No." Mikasa whispered.

And the elevator gave another lurch but stayed in place, the lights dimming but staying lit.

And it still didn't move.

Lev gripped the back of Mikasa's blue dress in his fist. "Fuck."

* * *

 

_~10:45p.m.~_

"Do you know what I would have been doing at this time if I wasn't stuck here?" Levi asked Mikasa, sprawled across the ground with his jacket rolled up beneath his head.

"Celebrating." Mikasa murmured, her knees drawn up as she sat in the corner opposite of him. "Party with your business partners."

"Sleeping." Levi admitted, dark amusement thick in his voice. "Or perhaps I'd be sitting in bed, catching up on bills and other shitty, seemingly never ending paperwork." He turned his head, catching her gaze, eyeing her pretty pale legs, her skin glowing softly in the low light. "And you?" He let his voice deepen. "What would you be doing right now if you weren't…" He gestured flippantly about them. "…trapped in here with me?"

She pressed her cheek to her knee, tracing invisible circles on the dark blue fabric of her dress skirt—making Levi dimly realize the fabric had the slightest of shimmers to it. "Eating and watching T.V." She eyed the wine bottle he'd gifted her. "Drinking."

Levi exhaled wearily.  _You have no one either._  "How dreary."

She turned away. "It'd be better than being trapped in here."

He smirked. "I bet so."

* * *

 

_~10:50p.m.~_

"What are you doing?"

"You can see what I'm doing."

Levi narrowed his eyes as she opened the huge box of sweets Jean had given her, a letter slipping out and sliding between them. There was a name written on it in a strong hand—

_Mikasa. From Jean._

"Is that a fucking love letter?"

Mikasa slid it towards her quickly, tucking it into her coat pocket with flushed cheeks. "No."

"Open it."

"No."

"We need some fucking amusement or we're going to go insane."

"I'm fine."

"Tch," Levi raked his hair back, glanced at the time. "I'm going mad."

She slid the wine bottle towards him silently.

* * *

 

_~11:00p.m.~_

"Are you going to eat the whole fucking box?"

She slipped another chocolate between her lips. "I haven't eaten today."

Levi curled his lip when his own stomach growled.

"Don't eat them all."

* * *

 

_~11:12p.m.~_

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Levi took another swig, placing the bottle back between them.

Mikasa paused in the middle of stretching. She turned her head, sprawled on her back, her coat the only thing between her and the cold floor. She looked at him with a frown—saw him sitting against the wall, one knee drawn up, his fingers idly toying with a silver candy wrapper.

She reached for the bottle, drinking from it deeply before speaking. "You're abrasive."

He let out a dark huff of amusement. "That's a fucking understatement." He tossed the wrapper back into the box. "You aren't exactly all sugary sweetness either, Mikasa."

She smiled softly—saw him go very still. "Also another understatement, Levi."

* * *

 

_~11:25p.m.~_

"So…you and Jean?" Levi gestured to the letter peaking from her coat pocket beneath her.

She shook her head. "I'm not discussing my love life with you, Levi."

"Not much of one, I'd say." Levi shifted, moving to lie down beside her. They faced the mirrored ceiling, locking gazes through their reflections. "He buys you sweets when you could care less for them." He handed her the bottle. "Do you think he knows your favorite wine?"

Mikasa leaned up to take another drink. "You gave everyone wine, Levi." She handed him the bottle, looking at him from over her pale shoulder. "Jean gave me something…different from what he gave the others."

He took the bottle—placed it aside. He reached up, slowly—almost tentatively—touching her bottom lip, wiping away a stray drop of wine. "Do you honestly think me gifting you a bottle of your favorite wine was a lucky coincidence, Mikasa?"

She shut her eyes as his fingertips brushed over her cheek. "You're drunk."

He pulled his hand away. "I spent fifteen fucking minutes trying to pick out that wrapping paper."

She flushed, lying back down. "Shut up, Levi."

* * *

 

_~11:35p.m.~_

"I'll give you a pay raise if you open the shitty love letter."

"It's not a love letter." Her small smile disarmed him. "And no."

* * *

 

_~11:40p.m.~_

"And if I threaten to fire you?"

Mikasa sighed. "I have plenty of other job offers."

Levi cursed, his words slurred. "You—from who?"

She shook her head and ignored him, tipping the bottle into her mouth.

* * *

 

_~11:55p.m.~_

"I've never been kissed under the mistletoe." Mikasa suddenly murmured, her dark eyes latched onto the greenery hanging above them. " _Really_ kissed. I was caught beneath it once with Eren." She touched her cheek, deep in memory. "I…leaned in to kiss him on the mouth—he kissed me on the cheek instead." She swallowed. "I felt…" She took a jagged breath. "I knew he'd never…"

_Eren's a fucking idiot._

"Neither have I." Levi lifted himself up, his head swimming as he crouched over her. He slid his hand beneath her head, angling her mouth beneath his as his lips touched over hers gently. He felt her sharp inhale—paused. "There." He rasped thickly. "Wasn't so special." He dragged his lips over hers again. "Was it?"

Her tongue touched his bottom lip—and his breath caught. He swept his tongue into her mouth, tangled it with hers, tasting the bitterness of the wine, the sweetness of the chocolates she'd eaten. She slid her hands up his back, her thin fingers tangling in his hair as they deepened the kiss—the quiet buzzing of her phone vibrating against the ground between them.

They broke the kiss—lips kiss stung, breathless—and Levi glanced at her phone. He huffed, pushing her hair back. "It's midnight." Her dark eyes were clouded—a mixture of alcohol and lust, her blush lovely in the soft light reflected about them. "Merry Christmas, Mikasa."

* * *

 

_~12:10a.m.~_

"What the hell is going to happen when we need to take a piss?" Levi asked out loud.

Mikasa sighed, rolling to her side and shutting her eyes.

She'd been starting to wonder the same thing.

* * *

 

_~12:20a.m.~_

Somewhere between being half asleep and half-awake Mikasa found herself gathered within Levi's arms, his mouth tracing over every inch of exposed skin. "You're so soft." He kissed down her throat, his hands bunching up her dress, her thighs parting for him. "I never knew."

Her hands yanked at his shirt, tearing the buttons apart, peeling the shirt away from his shoulders impatiently. He slipped his arms out of the shirt, let her run her palms over his bare chest, his arms, her nails lightly scratching down his back. He held still for her as slid her hands to his hard stomach, her fingertips slipping beneath his belt.

He hissed, catching her mouth in another hard kiss, muffling his groan when her palm dragged over his clothed erection, gripping it tightly. He broke the kiss, buried his face in her throat as she unbuckled his pants, her hand slipping in eagerly.

"Mikasa," He breathed, gritting his teeth when her hand found him, fingertips dragging over the rigid length. "Mikasa, fuck." He grabbed her wrist—grabbed both of them—pinned them above her head in one fist. He caught her gaze, saw the look of almost triumph in it, the power she felt at working him up so quickly.

 _I see,_ Levi thought, trying to clear his head. "My turn." He dragged his free hand over her front, rasped his fingertips down her throat, over her chest and down to her stomach—parting her thighs. "Hold still." He snaked his hand beneath her skirt, fingers tickling the inside of her thighs—she arched, her hips jerking up. He smirked. "I said hold still."

She jutted out her chin defiantly—made a strangled sound when his fingers cupped between her legs, teasingly tracing over the lacy fabric, the wetness seeping through.

"Levi." His name cut from her lips.

"You're wet." He murmured—hooking his fingers into the fabric, yanking it down roughly. "But not enough." He slipped her lace down her legs, the material tangling on her heels briefly. He tossed them aside, his fingers cupping her ankle, sliding his palm up her leg, back up her thigh—pausing. He released her hands, slipping his beneath her back, searching. "Where—where's the fucking zipper?"

Mikasa caught his wrists, dragged them to her chest. "Here."

He frowned—until he felt a small fold, a long line in the fabric from the top of the dress to the hem. He found the zipper—dragged it down achingly slowly, reveling in every newly exposed inch of skin. When he reached the end he leaned back on his knees, parting the fabric like he was unwrapping a desperately needed gift.

And when he bared her to his gaze—his lungs locked. "You weren't wearing a bra…" He smoothed his hands up her bare stomach.  _If I'd known…_ he crouched over her—saw their bodies reflected about them in the low light from above. His fingers slid between her legs, his fingertip brushing against her teasingly, making her arch beneath him wantonly.

Slowly, he slid one long finger into her, curling it forward. "Wetter," He observed, his mouth finding the side of her neck, his teeth nibbling. "Still not quite ready for me."

"Levi." She moaned, wrapping her long legs around him, her nails digging into his back viciously as his finger worked within her. "I need…"

"I know." His thumb slid up, pushing in, searching. "I know what you need." His mouth slid down her chest, his breath tickling her skin, tongue tracing small circles as his thumb found the small button of sensitive flesh. "Here." He rasped his thumb over it roughly—her cry muffled with her own hand. "Don't." He reached up with his other hand, tugging her palm away from her mouth. He circled her clit in time with the movement of his finger, driving her up, watched her arch her back, her neck, her pulse thrumming. He lowered his head, catching the tip of her breast between his white teeth, dragging another strangled moan from her lips.

He worked over her slowly, methodically, savored every touch, every moan, looking up to see her watching their reflection on the mirror over their heads. He smirked—brought her as close to the edge as he needed her—and slid her breast out of his mouth, pried his hand away from her.

"Don't—" She was shaking beneath him violently. "Levi—what—?"

"Just a little more." He dragged his lips down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her belly button.

He moved lower still, dipping his head between her legs, her soft curse satisfying him immensely. He dragged his tongue over her, sifting into her restlessly until he found the soft button, circling it easily once he did.

"Levi—please."

He angled his head, suckling—and she fractured, her fingers tangling in his hair tightly, holding his mouth to her as she bucked beneath him, a long drawn out moan pried from her lips. He gentled the movements of his tongue, nurturing her through it until she begged him to stop.

He conceded, his mouth dragging back up her stomach, pausing to nibble at her collarbones, kissing his way up her throat. His fingers curled into her—gentled when she flinched. "Still sensitive." He murmured, his fingers still delving deeper into her. "But you're ready now."

She couldn't quite open her eyes, her mouth pressing against his clumsily as his hand fumbled into his pocket. He found the condom, tearing it open and rolling it on quickly—pressed the tip against her entrance.

He dragged in a badly needed breath, bracing himself over her. "Wrap your legs around me." She obeyed, gripping his hips and lifting her own, pressing him into her in one smooth movement. "Wait," He cursed, letting her impale herself onto him helplessly. His hands gripped her hips, pulling them higher, burying himself deeper—she was all damp, unbearable heat, scorching him. "Fuck, Mikasa." He pushed harder against her, burying himself to the hilt, a groan tearing from his throat when she pushed against him roughly. "Stop moving."

She kept grinding onto him, finding an easy rhythm, her breath hitching as her pleasure began to build again.

_Shit._

He pinned her hips down, almost slipping completely out of her. "I'm trying to slow down." He bit her bottom lip in punishment. "I'm trying to be fucking gentle—"

"Don't." She flipped them over—slid him back into her body, spreading her thighs, seating herself fully onto him. "I don't want slow." She threw her head back as she began to ride him, spoke between ragged breaths. "I don't want you to be gentle."

_I don't want you to be gentle either._

She flattened her palms against his chest as she rode him roughly, greedily searching for her own pleasure, nails digging into his skin. He watched her, clenching his jaw as he tried to hold on, waiting for her to find her own pleasure—realized he wasn't going to be able to hang on for much longer.

He slid his hand down her stomach, his fingers tips pressing up between her legs, dragging across her soft flesh with every shift of her hips.

She moaned—moved faster, and  _fuck_ he couldn't hold back, couldn't—she gave a small cry, hunching forward and collapsing onto his chest, grinding onto him fiercely, breaking his control.

His hands fumbled, grasping the sides of her head, muffled his moan against her mouth, his hips bucking upwards as he came.

His hands gripped her ribs hard enough to bruise.

He tore his mouth away from hers, his pulse slowing gradually. They said nothing as their breathing returned to a normal tempo, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, the delicate, powerful lines of her back reflected in the mirror above them.

He slid his palm up her spine soothingly, quieting her small trembles. "Are you okay?"

The look she gave him was almost insulted—but mostly tired.

He smirked, brushing her hair away from her flushed face. "Stupid question, I suppose." She sat back up, pulling away from his body, curling onto her side beside him.

He removed the condom with a grimace, tossing it into a small bag of empty treats. He reached for his coat and draped it over her bare body. He shifted as he adjusted his pants, searching for his shirt. "Do you want your dress?" He looked back at her—found her eyes were shut, her breathing slow and even.

"You're asleep." Levi murmured, feeling rather winded himself. He sighed, rolling onto his back, glancing at their reflections on the mirrored ceiling, on the walls. "Merry fucking Christmas to us."

* * *

 

_~1:00a.m.~_

He woke feeling her stir, seeing her shut his jacket closed over her front—her heels still on. She looked lovely—all flushed cheekbones, bare body wrapped in a jacket too short for her, the curve of her hip exposed, her slender feet still prettily arched in strappy heels.

Naked except for his jacket.

And she looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but here.

Levi looked away, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She looked uncomfortable—and he didn't want her to be but neither did he know how to go about easing her distress.

_Don't make it worse._

"A little too late to get all skittish now, isn't it?" He arched a thin brow as he looked at her. "Considering…" He eyed her half exposed form pointedly.

Levi discovered that heels could be quite painful when dug into the skin.

* * *

 

_~1:20a.m.~_

"How long do you think it's going to take for someone to notice that we aren't anywhere to be found?" Levi murmured, carefully devouring a small sweet off of her stomach.

Mikasa's breath quickened, her fingers grasping his shoulders tightly. "Eren and Armin…always call me at midnight."

"Hmm," His mouth found the next sweet—lower down, the small caramel carefully placed over her thigh. "Hanji and Erwin call me, also." He sucked at her skin lightly, enjoying her little gasp. "They also show up in the morning to wish me happy birthday—ridiculous."

He moved lower—but she shifted, rolling over so that he was beneath her.

He scowled. "I wasn't done."

Mikasa straddled his legs, a furrow between her brows. "It's your birthday?"

Levi nodded. "It's not as if I'd do anything special to celebrate it anyway." He grasped her hips. "I hate birthdays anyway."

She eyed him grimly—and then something changed in her expression, a glint of determination, a look he'd seen when they'd been struggling through a meeting and a moment of clarity broke through her.

She reached up, grabbing a small handful of chocolates—neatly placing a line of them over his chest and down his stomach. She crouched, her mouth working over him, her tongue seeking sweet after sweet.

Levi shivered, chills plucking over his skin as her head moved down his stomach. "Shit—Mikasa." Levi clenched his jaw, his fingers cradling the back of her head as her lips encircled the sensitive head.

She glanced up through her lashes, her warm breath tickling him. "Happy birthday, Levi."

She took him into her mouth—and he cursed, arched his neck back—decided maybe he didn't hate birthdays after all.

* * *

 

_~2:00a.m.~_

"Levi," He felt her fingers sift into his hair. "Levi the lights are flickering."

He cracked open his lids, his head still in her lap. "They are." He looked up at her, still not quite awake. "It's making you nervous."

She inhaled deeply. "No."

He moved, pulling her onto him, cradling her head against his chest. "Sleep."

Her fingers gripped the side of his ribs tightly as his hand smoothed down her back and over her bottom.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Levi eyed their bare, entwined reflections—wondered what the hell would happen once they got out.

If she'd pull away.

If he would.

They both fell asleep soon after.

* * *

 

_~6:00a.m.~_

The sound of a loud buzzing woke them, along with the sudden flicker of the lights brightening. Levi sat up—pulling Mikasa up with him, held her when she slipped sideways.

"Levi—?"

"Shit." He stood, helping her onto her feet. The elevator began to move down. "Shit, shit."

They dressed as quickly as they could, barely managing to make themselves decent when the elevator stopped, the doors gliding open.

A group of technicians—along with Erwin and Hanji—stared at them openly.

Levi cleared his throat, buttoning his suit coat stiffly. "About fucking time." He grabbed his briefcase—eyed the mess of torn gift wrap and candy wrappers strewn about the elevator, the hand prints marring the mirrors, Mikasa's mussed hair—his own.

"Oh." Hanji muttered.

"Well," Erwin cleared his throat. "Thank you, gentlemen." He shook hands with the technicians, discreetly but firmly dismissing them. "Thank you for getting my coworkers out. Merry Christmas. You're free to go now."

* * *

 

_~7:00a.m.~_

Levi and Mikasa sat beside one another on the sidewalk outside, the cold biting the tips of their noses and their chapped lips. Erwin and Hanji had brought them two cups of coffee before they'd given them some privacy, and they held them between their cold hands, a stilted silence hanging between them as the sun began to peak over the tops of the buildings.

"We don't…" Levi paused, frustrated with himself. "We can pretend this never happened, if you'd like."

Mikasa kept her pretty dark eyes on the sunrise as she took another sip of her coffee. "If that's what you wish."

Levi frowned. "It's…not."

Mikasa looked at him, her expression unreadable—until the smallest of smiles touched her petal pink lips. "What now?"

He shrugged. "Dinner. Dates." He grabbed an end of her scarf, tugging her forward for a brief kiss, the movements of their mouths tinged with the relief that broke through them. He broke the kiss, kissing the side of her neck. "My apartment is just down the street." He moved to the other side of her neck, giving it the same treatment. "Spend Christmas with me, Mikasa."

Mikasa nodded, breathless.

They stood—gloved hands clasped as they walked away. Levi paused when they reached the corner, frowning at Mikasa suddenly. "This isn't just some ploy to get a pay raise, is it?"

She shoved his arm away and walked away from him—he gave a dark huff of laughter, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her back to him. "It was a damn joke."

She let him kiss her. "I deserve a pay raise."

He smirked. "You're just a younger woman out for my money and company, I see."

She shifted her hips against his. "Is it working?"

"Not one bit."

She pulled away, tugging her scarf up over her mouth as she linked their fingers. "I suppose I'll have plenty of time to work on that."

He smirked, tugging her into step beside him, letting her keep the chill away as the sunlight enveloped them. "That you will."


	2. Apple Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”The boy is Eren Yeager. A very wealthy duke who wishes to both gift himself and his recently betrothed a set of gifts.He’d implied some of them will require the girl to be quite undressed and they’d pay extra for our discretion. Considering the girl’s beauty I’m sure not even you will mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One shot for rivamika week.  
> You might not like the ending.  
> Infidelity, alcohol, parting ways and eremika bits. Sorry if this isn't your cup of tea.

The first time Levi lays eyes on Mikasa Ackerman she is wrapped in folds of jade green.

The first time Levi lays eyes on Mikasa Ackerman she is draped about a boy with eyes the same exact color. 

"She’s lovely, isn’t she?" Erwin murmurs discreetly, ice blue eyes fixed on the young couple in the library. The fireplace highlighted the girl’s pale skin, flickering across the ink of her intricately tied hair. "I’m sure she will not be difficult to paint. Most of the clients I assign you aren’t usually young and beautiful, are they?" Erwin smiled, gently, looking terribly pressed and constricted in his dark navy suit.

They’d been standing at the entrance of the library for quite some time now, biding their time until the intimately twined couple took notice of them. It was a lavish estate, Levi admitted, but most of the estates Erwin took him to were. The road past the gates had been lined with apple trees, the scent of them sweet and sickly in the baking heat, the fragile pink flowers wilting and shedding their petals. They’d drifted over the carriage and tangled in the manes of the horses, and as Levi had walked up the stone steps they’d fluttered off the ground with every step. The servants had apologized when they’d entered, sweeping the wayward blooms out as if they were insects. Everything looked polished, the wooden railings and heavy oak doors, the thick stained glass windows, the porcelain vases artfully strewn about, the silverware the servants carried past them—it was a wealth Levi would surely choke on.

A wealth most gladly would.

Yet for all the wealth they seemed to possess Levi’s critical eye could still find a streak of mud or two on the elaborate, lush rugs, finding bruises on the heaps of apples in glass bowls, his gloves coming away with a layer of dust when he ran them over the thick, heavy curtains as they made their way into the Duke’s library.

"I could care less who I paint." Levi tugged at his cravat, eyeing the graceful sweep of her exposed neck, the way the shadows dipped into the elegant lines of her collarbones, his fingers itching to stroke the brush across the canvas. Her hands were gloved, black lacey things, her fingers toying with another bundle of black pooled against her corseted waist, mostly hidden in her billowing skirts. She was perched on the boy’s lap, her back against his arm and to them, her head tucked beneath his chin lovingly.

Levi looked back up at Erwin, the man as large and clean as the day he’d found him. “As long as I get my coin.”

Erwin’s smile widened. “You will. The boy is Eren Yeager. A very wealthy duke who wishes to both gift himself and his recently betrothed a set of gifts.” He smoothed a gloved hand over the front of his gray vest, eyes skimming over his impeccably polished black boots. “He’s requested a set of portraits—mostly of her, some including himself—in celebration of their impending nuptials. We’re here to schedule the dates and settle on the amount.”

Levi looked back to the couple. “How many?”

"Six was what he’d written in his letter. He’d implied some of them will require the girl to be quite undressed and they’d pay extra for our discretion." Erwin’s smile slipped away. "Considering the girl’s beauty I’m sure not even you will mind."

Levi narrowed his eyes, watching the way the boy’s bright green eyes snagged over him and Erwin, finally noting their presence. He grabbed the black scarf in her lap and pulled it over her head, twisting it about her neck like a leash as they both stood. With their gloved hands clasped together they made their way towards them quickly, the young man’s face openly curious and chagrined.

"Forgive me." Eren spoke hastily, a flush on his cheeks, his brown hair mussed as he looked up at Erwin, his energy palpable.  _Sharp,_ Levi thought,  _bright_. If he painted him that’s what he’d be. The duke cleared his throat. “Erwin Smith, I presume?”

Erwin smiled easily, holding out his hand. “I am. Forgive us for the intrusion.”

"No, no we’ve been expecting you!" His leaf green eyes shifted over to Levi, his smile faltering slightly at Levi’s impassive expression. "Are you the painter?"

"Levi." He informed him, eyes studying the girl behind him in reluctant curiosity. "I am."

Eren grinned. “I’ve seen your work. It’s the best—it truly is. I’m a painter myself but my talent is a paltry comparison if it can even be called talent at all.” He laughed to himself, the sound dwindling at Erwin’s forced smile and Levi’s blasé look. “Well—ah, this is my betrothed, Mikasa Ackerman.”

He placed a gloved hand at the small of her back, urging her forward.

She stepped towards them, hands demurely clasped before her. She was, indeed, lovely, unblemished skin with hair and eyes as dark as bottomless pits, as hollow as them. The olive silk of her dress looked to be a compliment to her fiancé’s eye color, the black ends of her scarf slowly slipping down her front. The corset made her waist look impossibly slight, the flushed skin of her breasts pushed up rather wonderfully—and Levi was sure that with a tug and a pluck of her laces she’d spill out into his hands.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ackerman." Erwin shook her hand, his large one engulfing hers completely, voice like pressed velvet. "Congratulations on your engagement."

A small—false—smile tugged up at the corners of her petal pink lips, her dark eyes softening just slightly, their innocence deceptive. “Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

Erwin pulled away, placing his hand on Levi’s shoulder. “This is Levi and he is, as your fiancé surmised, the artist. His talent is truly one of the best of our time—you’ve seen some of his work, no?”

She nodded, stormy eyes touching upon him lightly, examining him uninterestedly, almost dismissively. Levi stiffened at her cold assessment, her forced smile doing nothing to shroud the ice in every syllable. “Oh, yes.” She held up her hand and he took it in his, gripping much too tightly. He felt her nails bite into the side of his hand, the thin fabric blunting the edges of her well concealed claws. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Levi.”

Levi nodded, letting her hand slip away, skin stinging—irrationally pleased when she flexed her fingers from his vicious grip. “The pleasure is all mine.”

She let her eyes slip down to his lips, down his chest and legs. “I expected you to be taller.” She murmured frankly.

Eren rocked back on his heels, admonishing her quietly—but Levi only smiled darkly. “You wouldn’t be the first.” He let his own eyes slip down her purposefully. “However, my height has never hindered my other talents.”

Her small smile mimicked his, genuine now. “I’d hope so.”

They regarded one another with reluctant respect, silence drawing between them until Erwin and Eren began to speak again, awkwardly at first then delving into the financial business of it, leaving Levi and Mikasa to their own devices. Neither of them spoke again, Levi plucking an apple from the crystal bowl, thumb running over the glossy surface, finding no imperfections.

_"Considering the girl’s beauty I’m sure not even you will mind."_

Oh, how Levi loathed that he was right.

* * *

 

They’d finished ironing out the dates and were on their way out when something quite unfortunate occurred.

Levi had stood, reaching for his case when Eren had suddenly grabbed the handle instead.

"I’ll carry it for you—"

Levi went blank with rage—seeing them take what he’d earned, steal what little he had, seeing them leave him filthy and rotting on the ground to die hollow and alone—the heel of his hand struck Eren’s nose swiftly, his other hand slamming into the boy’s throat, sending him flying into the bookshelf.

"Eren!" The girl caught him before he crumpled to the ground and Erwin caught Levi’s shoulder, shaking him.

"Get a hold of yourself, Levi." He hissed.

Levi blinked rapidly, willing the memories back just as Erwin moved forward, lifting the half unconscious boy up and carrying him to the settee in the corner.

The girl stayed rooted to the spot, black eyes spitting fire as she locked them onto him—she snapped forward and Levi braced himself for the slap. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d received one from an offended lady and certainly not the last—

She cracked the back of her hand across his face brutally, his vision darkening as the edges of pain flashed over his skull—and before he could regain his footing she slammed her other palm across his other cheek, nails ripping into his flesh.

He stumbled into the small tea table, sending the apples tumbling, the crystal bowl shattering as it struck the wood floor. The glass crunched as he continued to stumble, barely catching another attempted blow, his balance terribly out of control. She lunged at him—but Levi spun them, pinning her back against the wall, her wrists tight in his grip. She bared her teeth at him, chest heaving, her hair spilling down in disarray. She twisted her leg, her knee striking the side of his, making his leg buckle and he was barely able to catch her elbow—

"Mikasa!" Eren was suddenly pushing between them, arms wrapping around her, embracing and restraining. "Mikasa, I’m fine." He clasped the sides of her face with his hands, trying to get her to see him, to clear her gaze of the hollow bloodlust Levi knew intimately well. "Mikasa, please, calm yourself."

Levi touched his cheek as Erwin stepped between them, murmuring some paltry excuse about Levi’s traumatic past, laying the horrific details on thickly, contorting the truth for pity, to excuse his violence. His gloved fingertips came away stained with blood, pain shooting up his jaw and throbbing at his temples, his vision still tinged white at the edges. The strength of her hit would have knocked a lesser man unconscious, had pained him in a way he hadn’t felt since his younger days of barbarity; her strength was nothing to make light of.

She’d surprised him.

Almost nothing surprised him.

"It will not happen again." Erwin looked to Levi. "Right, Levi?"

Levi paused, meeting the girl’s furious expression with one of reluctant appreciation. He’d worn that look too many times to count, knew what that look was capable of. “Of course.” He saw the slight tremble of her hands, knew she was not yet half through with him, knew her savagery was just past her prettily clenched teeth. The duke kept his arm around her, his mouth by her ear, his other pressing a handkerchief to his bloodied nose. She softened when he pressed a kiss to her temple, the tight muscles in her arms and shoulders going lax, her hands unclenching. She nodded, inhaling, turning to look at him—and at seeing the blood on his face she immediately pulled him away, ferocity gone, gentleness in its place as she sat him down and tipped his face up.

Painting her would either be the one of the best decisions of his life or the worst—and the desire to paint her made his answer inescapable.

"Of course not." He held her gaze when she looked back to him, the taste of blood lingering on his tongue. "My mistake."

* * *

 

The second time Levi saw her she was, unfortunately, still dressed in green.

He’d been painting for hours now, or so it felt, the sunlight bearing down on the back of his neck, sweat gathering at his temples and brow. His blue eyes darted from the wet canvas to her, eyes lingering on the pale curve of her shoulders, the way her hair fell loose about her cheek and neck. It had become a test of wills, perhaps more on his end then hers; he did not usually keep his subjects sitting in the same position so long. They complained within an hour or two, asked for a break, to continue tomorrow yet she had not shown any sign of discomfort, of restlessness. She’d been sitting very still on the swing beneath the large apple tree, unmindful of the pale pink petals that drifted into her hair and over her skirts. She was silent, eyes as dull as paper—until Levi had had quite enough.

"Is there a particular reason you keep choosing to wear green?" He grabbed the small handkerchief on the table beside him, wiping at his paint stained hands uselessly.

Her eyes lifted to his slowly, heavily, as if he’d broken her from a day dream. He’d expected her to strike at him as soon as they’d been left alone in the orchard, but she’d only remained frozen and distant, distracted. Her lack of interest had bothered him more than her wrath would have. “Pardon?”

Levi’s gaze hardened.

Erwin could bend over backwards for the pompous swine that fed them coins but he didn’t have to, could care less about stepping on any toes. He’d already smacked her fiancé around for god’s sake, what did he care about propriety?

"Green." He gestured flippantly to her dress. "Why in God’s name would you wear green?"

Her lips thinned, and the sight of her displeasure pleased him no end. “Are you critiquing my fashion sense?”

Levi gestured as he spoke. “The leaves above you are green. The grass beneath you is green. Your dress is green.” He walked towards her, hands haughtily gripping at the black scarf twined about her pale, sweaty neck. “And it’s too warm for a scarf, isn’t it?”

Her hands shot up, gripping his wrists tightly between her long fingers, nails biting into him like the day she’d first met him. “Don’t ever touch my scarf.” She was still seated on the swing, looking up at him with a fiercely violent expression, lips pulled back over sharp teeth—that same lovely expression she’d worn when he’d pinned her against the wall.  _There it is,_ Levi thought arrogantly,  _there’s the snake hidden behind flower petals._ "Do not ever touch me again."

She released him—but he only gripped the thick rope of her swing on each side of her head, caging her. “If you wanted a striking contrast you should have worn a dress the color of red wine.” He let his eyes trace down her front critically—he reached out to the small table of treats and drink they’d set up, plucking the fruit from the bowl without breaking his gaze, holding it between them carefully as he spoke. “Apple red would have suited you much more beautifully.”

He saw her dark eyes linger over the scratches on his cheek, the bruise blooming upon his cheekbone. If he thought she would be moved by seeing the markings she’d left upon his face he was very, very wrong.

"It’s not a color I favor."

He brought the apple to his lips. “Have you ever worn it, Mikasa?”

Her eyes dropped to his lips when he spoke her name. “No. Nor do I intend to.”

He lowered the apple in irritation. “Then I might as well have been paid to paint the scenery since you blend in with it so well.”

Their eyes searched one another for several long, drawn out moments. He could see the translucency of her flesh at her temples, at her damp throat where the black cloth fell away, could almost feel it smooth and slick beneath his callused fingertips.

She stood, forcing him to step back. “I have no need to stand out.” She gave him a cutting look from over her shoulder, his eyes drawn to where her sleeve slid down her arm, back up to the scar on her cheek. “Nor do I wish to call attention to myself.” She walked away, leaving him silent and pondering. He sat in the swing in her stead, taking a moment to rest, snapping a piece of the apple off with his teeth as he watched her.

Of course she wouldn’t want to draw attention to herself, he thought darkly; snakes never did.

* * *

 

They’d taken a break when, to his surprise, Mikasa had willingly approached him, peering at his painting with reluctant curiosity. He’d been in the midst of drinking an entire glass of water, watching as her lips pressed together in displeasure.

"Why did you paint my scar?" She reached out to touch the painting—he caught her wrist reflexively, flexing his fingers over her skin.

"Paint is still wet." He released her—mostly because she jerked her arm out of his grip and because he didn’t quite wish to spend another night nursing an aching head. "I painted your scar because—like your hair, your mouth and limbs—it is a part of you." He was lying in a way. How many royals had he painted who’d been just a bit taller on canvas then in person? Who’d been slimmer, hair much more vibrant, cheek rosier? Erasing imperfections had been an unspoken part of the pay and yet he’d rejected brushing away her scar and his mind could only come to one conclusion.

It was not a flaw.

The fact that he hadn’t erased her scar was not the only difference in his usual style. This contained no embellishments, no fancifulness, none of his usual vividness—it was darker, lines a bit more sharp, a secretive, dark eyed young woman in a dress with a scar on her cheek, sitting on a swing beneath an apple tree.

"Get rid of it." Her eyes did not look away from the wet paint, hands flexing as if she wished to brush it away herself.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “No.” He eyed the light line across her cheekbone, adjusting his rolled up sleeves as he leaned against the table. “Does it bother your fiancé to see it?” It wouldn’t surprise him; the young rich nobles of society had been known for more ridiculous things. “Shallow of him, isn’t it? If he loved you the way he should you could be humpbacked and bald and he shouldn’t give a damn. A small scar shouldn’t be anything to squawk at.”

Her gaze had turned inwards, her fingertips running over her scar absentmindedly. “It does not bother him in the way you think.”

He cocked his head curiously. “But it bothers him nonetheless.”

She nodded stiffly.

He could ask, he supposed, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him and neither did he want to hear it, did not wish to fall into the quicksand he knew lay between them.

Each time they spoke was a gamble—the risk of falling in deepening.

He stepped forward, turning his head and raking his hair back. “I have a few scars myself.” He let her eyes find the lines in his skin, marks of flesh that had been spliced, the memories like the rotting wood of a dead tree. They trailed down his face to his neck and arm, others raked across his back, his thigh. “Now tell me,” He moved back to the table, serving them both a glass of water, the heat stifling. “If you were painting me—would you erase them?”

She took the glass of water he handed her, dark eyes surveying him methodically. “No.” She caught his gaze as she pressed the rim of the glass to her lips. “But I’d have half a mind to make you taller.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement, watching the way her own lips curved up behind her glass.

* * *

 

This was proving more difficult than he thought.

For this painting he’d had to lean close, study her features intimately, continuing to brush her hair back when it slipped forward, Eren’s words of wanting to capture  _the beauty of her face and hair_ circling in his skull unpleasantly. The windows had been opened to give them a bit of air to breathe but still the library was too warm to bear, the light from the sun fading, making him squint as he attempted to paint the upper half of her body. It had been a bit of a torture, his narrow eyes swallowing the details of her; the sweep of her neck, the line of her jaw and the thick lashes that framed her eyes, her lips pink and soft, drops of water clinging to them when she drank.

She’d been sitting in the middle of the library with a book clasped to her chest, her skirts billowed artfully about her. Her hand moved up to brush her hair over her scar again, snapping him of his last vestige of patience. “Tch,” He caught her hand, pulling it away. “Stop trying to hide your scar, Mikasa.”

"It’s late." Her lips pressed together—distracting him. "My legs are numb."

He released her hand. He could argue for the sake of arguing but it had been a long day and his control had been fraying. The light was poor and his neck had been cramping and he doubted being on her knees on the hard floor this entire time had been easy—he should have called it a day hours ago.

"We’ll continue tomorrow, then." He held out his hand, pulling her up onto her feet—her leg buckled, sending her crashing into him.

He cursed, wrapping his arms around her, her weight surprising him with its force. He was knocked onto his back, her legs tangling with his. She struggled to untangle herself, her skirts making everything slippery—and her elbow stabbed into his abdomen.

“ _Stop moving_.” Levi hissed, grabbing her elbow. He sat up—found her face only a breath away from his, her other hand finding purchase on his thigh. Her hair was draped down over one shoulder, her sleeves having slipped down, her breasts straining against the lacy top of her dress. He felt his pulse kick up at the way she was crouched over him, his leg between hers, one hand finding her waist. He could feel that quicksand tugging at his legs, the risk of it luring him to lean into her, the pulse at her throat fluttering.

"Don’t move." He breathed again, his lips brushing over hers, swallowing her intake of breath as he let himself sink into her mouth.

He lowered his lashes, moving his mouth against hers, the hand at her waist tugging her closer. She slid forward, straddling his thigh as her lips parted—and suddenly she was pushing him down, her teeth catching at his bottom lip as her hands slid down his hard chest. He dragged her up and she straddled his hips, settling over him wantonly, a small groan catching in his throat when her hips shifted. He swept his tongue into her mouth as his hands yanked at the ribbons at the front of her dress, jerking when they knotted, inhaling sharply when the fabric fell away and she spilled into his hands. Her knees kept slipping over the silk of her dress—he flipped them over, crouching over her, his knees rucking her skirts up.

"Mikasa," He breathed, his mouth moving down her neck, lips gliding over the swell of her breasts, over the angry pink lines the seams had pressed into her skin. He peeled the dress further down her stomach, finding small silvery scars, his eyes catching over them amidst his thrumming desire. Her fingers threaded through his hair, her back bowing as he took her into his mouth, a curse falling from her lips when he bit at her gently. He wrapped his arm around her waist, arching her further, his hand delving beneath her skirts, his blood pounding hard enough to drown out her moan.

There was a knock at the door—she jerked his head away as if he’d burned her, clutching the front of her dress together and standing in the blink of an eye. Her hands worked furiously to tie the front back up, lacing them up almost as quickly as he’d unlaced them, her breath quick.

He stood just as she cleared her throat, placing his palms on the desk at the far side of the room, trying to slow his pulse as she called out. “Come in.”

A meek girl with mouse brown hair peered in. “We heard a loud noise, Miss.”

Mikasa gestured to the book on the ground. “I dropped a book.”

"Oh." The girl looked disappointed and unsatisfied with the explanation, perhaps wishing they’d spilled something so she’d have an excuse to stay within the room. "Is there anything you need, Miss?"

"Nothing." Mikasa answered, a little too curtly. "Is that all?"

The girl blinked, nodding quickly. “Yes, Miss.” She shut the door, her steps clicking away slowly.

Levi dragged a hand through his hair, his mouth still tingling, hands still aching. He moved towards her—but she whirled, facing him, hands and jaw clenched. “Don’t come any closer.”

"Didn’t think you spooked so easily." He stilled, eyeing her wariness with skepticism. "Where did you get your scars?"

"That’s none of your concern." Her gaze hardened, her chin jutting out. "How much?"

His brow furrowed, attempting to make sense of her question. “What the hell are you talking about?”

"To keep quiet." She gestured to the space between them, to the ground where they’d been spread over just moments ago. "How much will keep you quiet?"

His irritation increased, making his movements jerky. “I’m not going to tell your precious fiancé a damn thing, Mikasa.” He adjusted his sleeves, gathering his supplies. “Though I’d do him a great favor in doing so.”

There was a flash of something dangerous in her eyes, something dark and sinister and it enraptured him and sickened him all the same. “Leave.”

He allowed himself to drink in her mussed appeared—her crumpled skirt, the messily tied ribbons, her swollen, reddened mouth. They’d sunk to their knees in the quicksand but they’d ripped themselves free somehow—and he wasn’t sure if he could count it as a blessing or a curse. “As you wish, my _lady._ ”

He swept out without another word.

* * *

 

The subsequent time Levi saw her she wore a dress the color of rubies, red as dark as the skin of an apple, the skirt riddled with pale silk flowers and pearl studs. She still wore the thin black scarf about her neck, her black gloved hand cradling a thin glass of pink champagne.

"We could make good business here." Erwin reminded Levi beneath his breath, his smile still easy as they made their way further into the grand ballroom, tables spilling with lavish foods and silverware, plump and well fed bodies wrapped a bit too tightly in corsets and shiny coat buttons. "You just have to behave." Erwin’s bright blue gaze slid to him pointedly.

Levi nodded grimly, his eyes never leaving Mikasa, seeing her drink her champagne much too quickly.

"Of course, Erwin." He murmured, grabbing two glasses as he made his way towards her.

* * *

 

"Here."

He pressed the stem of the glass to her gloved fingers, watched in satisfaction as she curled them and lifted the rim to her lips. She finished it in one long swallow, lashes fluttering shut. She tilted her chin down, that black fire still crackling in her gaze as she handed the now empty glass back to him.

"You were invited to the ball as a courtesy from my fiancé." She murmured the words, venom laced with sugar. "If you had any sense of self-preservation whatsoever you would keep far, far away from me."

Levi cocked his head, couldn’t quite quell the smile from his tone. “I am an artist, not a gentleman. You should not let the formal garb deceive you, Mikasa.” He allowed his gaze to swallow her whole, seeing the way she straightened instead of shrank, the way those lips began to pull away from her teeth in an expression he’d never known could lure him so much. “Just the way I do not let your silk dresses fool me into thinking you are a lady.”

She watched him darkly for a drawn out moment, breathing slowly, deeply, looking away.

It seemed she had a handle on her temper tonight and he simply had to search for another way to unlock her artful shell.

"Red." He gestured to her dress. "Suits you quite better. I was beginning to think you had no other color in your wardrobe."

She adjusted her scarf, looking terribly warm, her face flushed from the sweltering summer night and, it seemed, from too much drink. “My wardrobe is none of your concern.”

She lifted her gloved hand to her hair and there he saw the glint of a large, ostentatious ring, a round emerald exquisitely cut and framed by thick twists of gold. It looked heavy and cumbersome, more a show of wealth than taste.

"Of course." He murmured, and she clenched her hands reflexively. "Is it safe to assume that the color you favor is green?"

She pressed her lips together, looking down at her ring, lashes fanning over her pink dusted skin. “It’s the color of his eyes.” She admitted softly, and he saw the chains crack away from her neck and wrists, revealing something quite vulnerable and terribly twisted beneath her words. “The color…soothes me.”

Levi lifted his own glass, drinking deeply, welcoming the burn of it, the warmth spreading down his hard chest and stomach.

He wasn’t quite done taking her apart yet.

* * *

 

"Hush." He murmured it against her throat, his hands gripping her hips through her skirts, the silky material slipping through his gloved hands, fraying his control.

She inhaled shakily, her lower back pressed to the edge of the balcony, moonlight painting them in dull silver and bone white. His teeth caught at the ribbons keeping her chest concealed from his mouth, tugging at them as he dug his fingers further into her flesh, letting her feel his arousal brazenly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her up onto the marble railing, watching as his white teeth bit the bottom of his glove, tearing it off swiftly.

"Lean back over my arm." He commanded, and she did, the danger of being caught thrumming her heart, the precariousness of leaning over a surely fatal drop driving her up. He slid his now bare hand beneath her skirts, his hand greedily searching and fumbling between her spread thighs, fingers yanking and tearing at any and every barrier.

She gasped his name when he found her, his thumb sifting between her folds, making her burn and choke. She pulled him closer, silk gloves clawing at his jacket covered back as she wrapped her thighs around him. Her mouth caught at his, hissing, cursing him, begging him as he delved in deeper.

"Take off your clothing." She pressed the words to his throat, her hands slipping down his front, yanking at the front of his trousers, dark eyes hazy and narrowed. "I will not be the only one."

He smiled, reveling in her pride, her arrogance, let it draw out his own. “Did you think I wasn’t selfish, Mikasa?” He pulled his hand away for a moment, unbuttoning himself quickly. “You’re mad if you think you’ll be the only one receiving tonight.” She made to pull his hips to her but he moved, brushing her hands away and pushing into her—slowly, stiffly. He groaned a little, burying himself between her thighs, fusing their hips together tightly, reveling in the scorch of her. She let her head drop back, quivering around him helplessly, her breath catching at his next words. “I always get mine.” He panted them into the side of her neck, holding her knees up and spread as he took her ruthlessly, her hand moving down to touch where they were joined. She pushed a hand up under his shirt, nails digging into his back, her mouth moving over his fiercely, the kiss tasting of champagne and blood—and they clung to one another as they swallowed each other whole.

* * *

 

Levi’s head spun pleasantly as the carriage jolted forward, unmindful of his state of dishevelment. Erwin sat across from him, blue eyes scanning him with that almost frightening perceptiveness.

"You disappeared for quite some time during the ball, Levi." Erwin adjusted his gloves, more out of habit then need. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Levi licked his lips, the taste of her mouth and champagne still on his tongue. “Quite.”

Erwin’s blue eyes hardened. “I rather thought this would occur.” Erwin showed no fleck of emotion. “You are the same, after all.”

Levi inhaled, letting himself sink onto the seat, staring up as he raked his hair back. “The same?” He’d thought so once, too. “She’s a bloody royal—or soon to be.” Levi shut his eyes at the thought. “You plucked me off the streets, bloodstained and filthy.”

Erwin spoke smoothly, the same palliative tone that always convinced Levi to follow any orders Erwin instructed him of. “Mikasa Ackerman was taken into the Yeager family after she was about to be sold off.”

Levi went very still. “Sold?” He turned to face Erwin, brow furrowed. “Sold to whom?”

Erwin sighed. “To whoever would buy her.”

Levi sat back up. “And her family?”

"Murdered." Erwin answered easily. "After they murdered her parents they took her to be auctioned off. She would have been if it hadn’t been for Eren." Erwin watched Levi steadily now. "He saved her life. They took her in and treated her like one of their own. To no one’s surprise the two fell in love and here they are today."

Levi felt an unbearable sense of unease, the news rattling him despite his drunkenness.

 _"It’s the color of his eyes."_  He recalled her murmuring gently.  _"The color soothes me."_

He’d remembered seeing a crack in her armor then, a flash of the twisted wreckage of a woman she was beneath. It was why she was so fiercely protective of him, why she’d almost crushed the very bones in his face when he’d struck Eren that day they’d met.

He’d saved her life.

And she’d never, ever let go of that. She’d found gentleness in the duke when she’d had none. He kept her human when she was very much capable of being a fiend.

A monster who clung to the sliver of a heart she had left.

"We’re alike after all." Levi muttered.

Whether this would serve to untangle himself from her or if it would only press him in much deeper he did not know.

* * *

 

With the wealth that Eren Yeager threw at them many of their problems eased, giving Levi plenty of time to ponder in his newly found free time.

And, not to his surprise, he found himself thinking of Mikasa Ackerman.

He did not, however, quite think of her like this.

"This is rather silly, isn’t it?" Eren murmured, flushing as Mikasa slid her bare hand over his chest. She stood behind his chair, one hand curled over the back of it, the other possessively pressed over Eren’s heart.

She was wearing green again.

And it was driving him mad.

"It is." Mikasa murmured, the jewels in her hair glinting in the bright sunlight streaming from the window. "It’s fine."

Eren grinned. “I…just thought it would be nice. Having a painting exactly like that one.” He gestured to the painting hung upon the wall, gilded by a heavy, gold painted frame. Levi’s gaze flickered to it reluctantly. It was a young couple, the painting looked a little worn, aged. The man was seated in the same exact chair Eren was, his smile easy, his eyes reminding him of Erwin’s—the intelligence within them undeniable. The woman was the spitting image of Eren, wide bright eyes, slim frame, energy palpable, the artist having caught it well. “So that our children would have something to remember us by.”

He reached up, lacing his fingers with Mikasa’s.

Levi’s grip on the brush tightened imperceptibly, strokes stiff, curt. Mikasa smiled down at Eren gently, and he returned the look in kind, looking up at her adoringly.

He wondered if Eren found the bruises he’d left on her hips and thighs, if he’d like to see the scratches she’d raked down his back, matching the dulled claw marks on his cheek.

He wondered if he knew her brutality, knew how good her edges felt, felt the way she shook when she came undone; if he knew she looked like a cat that had its fill of cream when she watched him come apart before her instead.

"They will." Mikasa murmured, her gaze lifting up, meeting Levi’s, calm and cold, not an ounce of the fire and venom she’d made him swallow that night on the balcony.

Eren couldn’t know, Levi decided, brush lingering on the curve of her cheek. If he did he’d surely flee.

* * *

 

She wore a heavy silk robe in the darkest shades of red and nothing underneath. The sun was setting and there was a chill in the air, the lit fireplace doing nothing to stem the small shivers that crept down her spine.

This had been the painting that she had both anticipated and dreaded the most—the last one.

She lifted her dark eyes, searching out the window a little listlessly.

Levi would be here any minute now.

There was a knock on the door and she stood, the robe slipping off a pale shoulder. “Come in.”

The door pushed open and Eren peered in, green eyes looking about cautiously. “Mikasa?” He cleared his throat. “Are you…decent?”

She pulled her robe up her shoulder, cinching the belt properly. “Yes. Come in.”

He did, tentatively glancing at her. He paused, lips parting as his eyes traced over her lithe form clad in only a thin covering. Her insides jangled as she saw the desire pool in those green depths, tangling further as he stumbled towards her.

"Mikasa, you…" He reached out tentatively, grasping her elbows and tugging her towards him. "You look beautiful." His eyes dropped to her mouth, and he tugged her a breath closer—and then he was kissing her, gently, softly. She shut her eyes, kissing him in return, parting her mouth eagerly, his scent and touch as familiar as her own—but soon he was pulling away.

He looked a little dazed, shaking his head as he flushed. “Forgive me.” He touched the back of his head abashedly. “I should not have been so forward.”

She shook her head, nails digging into his biceps. “We’re to be married within a few weeks.” She looked to the fireplace, gaze turned inwards. “A kiss isn’t much in comparison to the things we will be doing soon enough.”

His blush deepened, and he stepped away. “I…I suppose.” He swallowed, throat working tightly. “Are you nervous?”

She looked back up at him, searching his features. “No.” And she meant it. Eren was her opposite, her constant, her anchor. Without him she’d be adrift and alone, swallowed up at the bottom of the sea, lungs filled with water. “Are you?”

Eren nodded jerkily. “I am.” He smoothed his hands up and down her arms when she stiffened. “But I am sure.” He touched her cheek. “I’ve loved you since I was a boy.” He smiled, tender and sweet. “I hope to love you until I am an old man.”

He touched his forehead to hers, lips a breath apart. She reached up, circling his wrists with her fingers and holding him to her.

Eren had always had a heart that swallowed people whole. His temper was quick and he was reckless when he was hurt—but she knew it had always been because he cared too much, had never been able to stop himself from saving everyone he could.

And she’d been drawn to him because while she  _had_ cared—it had never been enough for her to do what he’d done, to risk himself for everyone and anyone. She could only keep so many people within her arms and she would not risk any of them.

And like the girl who’d been touched by the cruelty and ugliness of this world she’d betrayed Eren in one of the worst possible ways—the differences between them both drawing her near and making her feel unreachable.

Whereas Levi had been her likeness.

And it had hollowed her as it had filled her, reminding her of the savagery people were capable of, of what  _she_ was capable of. She’d wanted him to tear it out of her with his bruising grip and his sharp teeth. She’d wanted to remember it as much as she wanted to forget it.

"You should go." She pulled away, releasing him and stepping away. "Armin will be waiting for you."

Eren smiled, nodding and walking to the door. “I think…” He let his green eyes trace over her again. “I think this painting will be the one I look forward to the most.”

She felt her stomach curl—and before she could speak he was gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.

* * *

 

When Levi entered the small, dimly lit room he did not speak or acknowledge her presence. He kept his gaze focused on propping up his easel and organizing his brushes. He could feel the heat of her focus upon him, see the stillness of her form as she lay upon the bed just across from him, a bowl of apples propped near the fireplace.

He looked up, dark blue eyes skimming over her silk ruby robe curtly. “You should be on the settee by the fireplace, Mikasa.” He gripped the handle of his brush a little too tightly. “The firelight does not reach you well enough. The moonlight is only highlighting one side of the bed.”

He finally  _looked_ at her, pausing when he found her dark eyes fixed upon the window. She moved very slowly, her words matching the speed of her movements. “When I was a young girl I watched my parents murdered before my very eyes.” She slid to the edge of the bed, moonlight touching over her delicately. It made her look terribly young, vulnerable, pale hands gripping her robe together. “Eren killed two men to save my life.”

Levi put the brush down.

"I killed one to save his." Her hands began to tug at the silk belt at her waist. "A year ago two men came to visit the duke and propose a business arrangement. They were asking the duke for his financial support to rebuild an orphanage that was sorely dilapidated. I had no interest in such things and I would have missed meeting the two men entirely if it had not been for Eren’s insistence. I believe Eren thought it would be a sweet gesture, in memory of how I had been left parent-less and alone. Eren pulled me into the room and when I raised my eyes to their faces, I…" Her hands went still. "I remembered them. They weren’t the men who murdered my parents but they were the men who’d ordered those men to." She looked down at her hands, curling her fingers into her palm.

"Once they murdered my parents they took me to an  _orphanage_  which was nothing more than a common whore house. These two men ran the orphanage and when they got their hands on me…” She stood, shoulders stiff, her lips pressed into a hard line. “They made me undress. It was an examination, they said. To see the quality of what they’d be selling and therefore the worth.” She tugged the robe off her shoulders, exposing her pale skin.

Levi felt his breath catch as the fabric pooled at her feet. She was beautiful, yes, and he had felt her strength but he had not  _seen_ it. The lines of her body riveted him, the slender muscles in her arms and long legs graceful and powerful. Her hard stomach rippled as she inhaled, moonlight trickling into the every dip and curve. He saw the mostly faded bruises upon her thighs, across her ribs and another on the side of her breast, the thin scars marring her skin.

"I was ashamed to stand in front of them, then." She moved across the room towards him, pausing before the fireplace, lifting her chin in a way that was every inch a queen. "I’m not ashamed now." She stood straight and proud, arrogance in every line, her eyes daring him to mock her.

He let his gaze swallow her whole, blood quickening as it rushed through his veins. She was beautiful and she was powerful and if he had ever thought he could have the upper hand when it came to their love making he knew he’d been utterly and profoundly wrong. “Did Eren give them the support they were asking for?”

Mikasa watched him carefully. “He did. Or, he was.” She looked away briefly. “They asked for tea, you see.” Her brow furrowed. “My mother was very adamant about teaching me about poisonous herbs. She worried I’d accidentally eat something that’d make me sick so she taught me everything she knew about them.” She touched her mouth absentmindedly, as if trying to silence herself. “I served them their tea and they left. We received the news of their deaths a week or so later.” Mikasa touched her throat. “They will not do to any other child what they did to me.”

Levi bit the inside of his cheek.  _Why are you telling me this?_ "And you do not regret killing them?"

She raised her eyes to his. “No.” And she meant it, too, the look within them rigid and cold. “I could kill again if necessary. I could burn down an entire city if my mind required it. I have a little bit of heart and Eren is most of it. Eren is everything I am not.” She inhaled, slow and deep. “You are my likeness.” She slipped her fingers over her bare stomach. “I felt it when I first saw you.” She licked her lips and his eyes followed the movement, blood heating. “I wanted you because you made me feel less alone.”

Levi let himself drink her words for a moment, trying to make sense of them. It was not love, no, nor was it anything of the romantic notion—but it was the truth.

Like stray feral dogs who’d found homes, serving owners who tried to domesticate them; wearing their collars and their leashes, obeying their orders and eating whatever was given to them but always,  _always_ the urge for freedom sang in their blood, the ability to tear out throats in the blink of an eye just past their clenched teeth.

_Less alone._

He moved towards her, pausing once he was just inches from her. He could feel the heat of her body, the brush of her breath—he reached out, circling her wrists with his fingers and lifting her arms. He stepped forward until she was pressed back against the poster of the bed, pressing her damp palms to the smooth cool wood above her head.

"Keep them here, Mikasa." He pressed against her, breathing the words against her throat as he dragged his hands down her arms.

He saw the chills prickle across her flesh, felt the small shudder against his fully clothed body. He stepped away, eyeing her, a little breathless himself. Her long lean body was stretched out, arms gracefully pulled over her head. She was in the center of the room, one side of her colored in the silver moonlight, the other in the warm firelight. It suited her, he thought, and the arrogance and slightly dazed edge in her eye was something he wanted to capture.

The vulnerability she was trying not to show was something he wanted upon the canvas for years to come.

"I’m going to paint you like this." He tore his gaze away, hands moving over his brushes. "Stay still."

They worked until the deep hours of the night.

* * *

 

Several weeks after their marriage Mikasa received a package, a small box wrapped in paper and twined with plain brown string. Her hands did not shake as she broke the seal, her expression giving nothing away.

"What is it?" Eren murmured, at the other end of the table, half distracted over the letter he was scribbling on.

Inside the oilskin envelope had been several charcoal sketches of her; the first where he’d pinned her against the wall when she’d struck him, her lips pulled back over her teeth, hair and eyes wild; another when he’d stood over her as she’d sat on the swing, the apple held between them, her eyes searching his. The pages fluttered as she sifted through them; finding another of her tugging a strand of hair over her scar, a split second of insecurity; of her splayed beneath him the first time he’d kissed her, the scars over her stomach. Her fingers wrinkled the paper when her eyes slid over the sketch of her arched over the balcony, her throat exposed as he pulled her towards him. The last page was the most frayed, the lines blurred, looking as if he’d crushed it and smoothed it out a multitude of times; they were entwined on the bed, paint smeared over their shoulders, hips and necks, her eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure overwhelmed her, his hands curling the sheets beside her head. In all of them he’d dawn her sharply, teeth too sharp, eyes too dark, fingers curled like claws-it captured what he made her feel perfectly.

She folded them carefully, tucking them back into the envelope and slipping it into the pocket in her skirts, heart thudding when Eren stood.

"Mikasa?" Eren queried, eyes bright with curiosity.

She reached into the box, praying he had not seen the small sheets, finding a small gilded frame with a painting the size of a large book. She pulled it out just as Eren walked towards her.

"From Levi?" Eren smiled as he gazed at it. "That was when we first met them, wasn’t it?"

Mikasa held the small painting up, her dark eyes tracing over the soft, artfully smudged colors. She was perched on Eren’s lap, her head tucked under his chin, her lips curving up gently. Eren’s arm was around her back, his own smile mirroring hers. There was a terrible tenderness in their expressions, an intimacy he’d captured, an affection that went soul deep—and it made her heart beat hard and slow against her ribcage, her fingertips digging into the rigid edges.

"It’s lovely." Eren admitted, his hand sliding down her back soothingly, his mouth finding her temple. "I wonder why he sent it, though. He does not seem like the type to give out things freely and his art is worth a small fortune."

Mikasa ran a fingertip over it, catching over the red apples in a crystal bowl beside them, the sunlight glinting over it curiously.

"It’s a parting gift, I suppose."


	3. Hips and Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: one or both are in a biker gang

He hates her. He despises the way she doesn’t bat an eye at him when everyone else jumped, despises the symbol on the back of her jacket, the way it differs from the one he wears. He loathes the riveting swing her of hips when she walks away from him, the way she smells like candy and leather when she leans in too close—yes, he absolutely loathes Mikasa Ackerman.

And she has him on his knees all the same.

 

* * *

 

His wrists are pinned behind him with the thin belt she’d had beside her bed, his arms straining against the thick bed post—and he’s beginning to regret letting her tie him up like this.

“Fuck.” He groaned, bare chest heaving, his knees aching. Somewhere in the midst of the liquor laced clouds fogging his thoughts he knew she could fucking murder him if she wanted, could have him buried before the night was through and it’d be a grand accomplishment, the strongest of their rival gang gone—and he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. “Why the fuck do my hands have to be tied?”

She arched as she stood before him, sending a thrill through him as her pale hands gripped the bottom of her slinky dress, lips the color of blood. “I want you to watch.” She tugged it up—then paused again, something ferocious hardening her pretty mouth, the winged eyeliner making her eyes look like a cat’s. “And  _only_ watch.”

And then she turned, facing away from him.

“What the hell…” The words died on his tongue as she lifted the dress up slowly, widening her stance as she slunk it up inch by inch. He felt his breath catch with every inch she exposed, his eyes trailing up her narrow waist, up the delicate muscles of her back. She was naked except for the thigh high fishnets and knee high black boots, tattoos inked over her like words in a book, like a map for his mouth and hands.

And damn if she wasn’t the most beautiful fucking woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

She glanced at him from over her shoulder, arching a pretty dark brow, looking almost pleased with his breathlessness. She ran her fingers over her bare hips, her nails scratching up her stomach, spreading chills across her own skin—but he’s convinced he can do it better.

His voice was a little hoarse. “Turn around.”

She shook her head, making him curse under his breath. He strained against the belt, the wood post creaking with the force of it—when she suddenly bent forward, her fingers pulling at the zipper on her boot.

And while it gave him one hell of a view, the thought of her tossing them aside made him protest. “Don’t.” She froze at his gruff tone, at the splinter beneath it.  “I…” He breathed deeply, blue eyes catching her gaze intently, trying to think clearly. “I like the way you look with them on.”

She licked her lips. “Beg me.”

Levi froze, arching his pierced brow. “What?”

“Beg. Me.” She turned to face him—his gaze swallowed her whole—and those hips of hers swung as she made her way across the room, standing before him. Her hand curled under his chin, tipping his face up, her mouth brushing over his. “Like a dog.” And he remembers having Eren in this very position, remembers those exact words—she yanked on his hair, arching his neck, her smirk driving him up instead of cooling him and he laughs because  _he should have fucking known better._

She hated him, he knew and maybe he’d never really hated her to begin with—but hell if he wasn’t head over ass in fucking love with her.


	4. Nine months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: unexpected baby/accidentally pregnant

"Don’t look at me like that." He spat, but he cannot hide the shake in his voice, in his hands. "I’m not going anywhere."

* * *

 

She has not spoken to him much in the past nine months. 

He tries his best to give her space, to give her time to adjust to the thought of a baby—because she wasn’t the only one who’d needed adjusting—and instead he contents himself with watching the subtle changes of her body, of her temperance and inevitably her spirit and mostly he wonders at how much it gentles them both. 

She sleeps in more often than not, trudging into the kitchen only when the scent of breakfast lures her in, her features swollen with sleep and her hair like a bird’s nest as she eats with her eyes closed—and sometimes when she waddles away he finds himself quietly flustered, jaw clenched as he passed a hand over his flushed face. She is warmer now when they sleep, when before any brush of her feet and fingers had felt like ice. She pushes his hands away when he reaches for her so that the cool air can fan her skin, the sheets kicked away, her palm pressed to the slight curve of her belly as she murmured quietly in her slumber.

It is the third month when the morning sickness really hits her and he spends almost every day scrubbing the sink, the floors, the buckets he keeps about that she never manages to aim properly into. He spends most of his birthday night trying to find every trace of vomit she’d sputtered into his car—and when he is finally sure he has washed away every bit of filth he finds her fast asleep on the couch, open mouthed and limp, and he is careful not to press into her stomach as he carries her into their bed.

When they touch he is careful, every brush of his mouth and fingers electrifying her in ways she’d never experienced, her body flush beneath his soapy hands as he bathes them both leisurely. She shuts her eyes and lets his hands smooth over her now swollen belly, lets him learn how changed her shape is.

“You’re softer.” He breathed, his bare chest against her back, his legs cradling her as the steam curled the straggling strands of her hair.

“Heavier.” She murmurs, touching the pale stretch marks crawling up her skin. “Clumsy.”

"Sensitive." He pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, feeling the vibration of her moan on his lips as he slid his hand between her thighs, her soft murmurs and the slosh of water the only sounds puncturing the eerie silence of their home for the rest of the night.

It is the eighth month of her pregnancy when Mikasa changes from distant and serene to troubled, waking him in the middle of the night with thoughts that plagued her.

“We know nothing,” Her back is turned to him, her shoulders hunched defensively. “We know nothing of being parents. Of raising a child. We both have blood on our hands, Levi, we both are cold and severe and…”

He said nothing—he’d thought the same thing when they’d first found out she was pregnant but he’d only ever thought those things of himself, never of her. He has seen her smile at children when she thinks no one is looking, has seen the way she has protected Armin and Eren to within an inch of her life, seen her care for them, worry for them—and he knows he would find a better mother nowhere else.

She wakes a few hours later, finding him fast asleep at the kitchen table, a book splayed beneath his cheek. She reads only a little of what is exposed, eyes catching over certain words— _being a father requires patience, your child will look up to you, they will not understand why you are angry or frustrated, your words will shape them for their entire lives_ —then he stirs, blinking as he straightens.

“Why are you up?” He snapped the book shut, his gaze averted, throat working. She laces their fingers together, tugging him onto his feet and back into their bed, wrapping her arms around him and smoothing her palm down his bunched back until he fell asleep, the knowledge of his own insecurity both breaking and strengthening her.

It is when he is finally holding their baby that Levi cracks, his fingers shaking as he cradled the tiny body against his chest. She is small, and she is helpless, and his hands have done unspeakable things, have crushed skulls twice the size of hers—and he almost cannot bear to hold her.

“I’ll probably be a shitty father.” He bit out, Mikasa watching him tiredly from her hospital bed. “I’ve read a few books, a few articles but they’re for those who haven’t done what I have, who aren’t what I am—”

Mikasa’s eyes fluttered shut as she spoke. “You can leave if you like.” Her skin is pale, damp with sweat, her lips sliced from how fiercely she’d bitten them trying not to scream.  

The shake in his hands is stemmed slowly, gently. He allows himself to trace her tiny features, sees more of her mother in her than him, and he thanks the gods for it. He smoothed his palm over his daughter’s small head, his thumb running over her temple. Her reddened lips twist and curl at the touch, a yawn making her tiny arms stretch towards him—until the infant suddenly gurgles, coughing up something pasty and yellow.

"Shit." He grabbed a blanket, wiping it up as best as he could, grimacing. "Just like your damn mother."

She hums as she watches him scramble, shutting her eyes. “You can walk out anytime you’d—”

"I’m not fucking going anywhere." He snapped—and she merely smiles as she goes back to bed.


End file.
